


Could You Paint Me Better Off?

by thePetetoherPatrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, If I missed something I should have tagged tell me, M/M, Painter!Patrick, Suicidal Thoughts, idk what else to tag this with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:32:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8800960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thePetetoherPatrick/pseuds/thePetetoherPatrick
Summary: I sit there for a while when I notice someone with an easel a little ways away. I watch out of the corner of my eye and see him peak around the easel a couple of times. It doesn’t take much to figure out he might be painting me.





	

Waking up to the thoughts of wanting to end it all is honestly one of the most exhausting things to feel. Feeling useless, unwanted, and alone to the point of feeling like it’d be better to just give up and throw in the proverbial towel. When your mind wants to kill you. That was today and all I wanted was to turn it off, give my mind what it wanted. 

 

Hemi jumps up onto the foot of the bed and wanders up to lay on my legs and paw at me. I groans and he starts whining. I wipe my face with my hands, wiping away the tears I couldn’t hold back if I tried. I force myself to sit up and look down at my dog. 

 

“What do you need, buddy?” I ask him and makes a little noise. “What? Food?” I ask and the noise gets a little louder. “You hungry, Hemi?” he barks quietly. “Well get off then, I can’t feed you if I can’t move.” 

 

Hemingway is probably the only reason I’m able to force myself to get out of bed, let alone go to work. Scratch that, he  _ IS _ the only reason. He deserves better than me but I love him. He jumps down and I get up to follow him out to the kitchen. He looks up at me wagging his tiny tail happily as I scoop some of his food out of the bag and pour it in his bowl. I refill his water with fresh cold water while I’m there. He looks at me expectantly when I set the bowl back down. 

 

“What?” I grumble at him. He swipes his paw at me and I groan. He expects me to eat with him like I usually do. I grab my box of cereal and pour some in a bowl. I grab a spoon and add the milk. I cringe as my stomach turns at the thought of eating but Hemi is still sitting there looking at me so I sink to the floor, sitting cross legged, and take a bite of my breakfast. I look at the clock. Ok, late lunch then. Hemi seems satisfied and starts eating. I take a second bite and fight against the urge to gag. Hemi finishes his food long before I do and comes over to lean against me and nudge my arm encouragingly. I force down the rest of the cereal and get up to wash my bowl. 

 

When I set the bowl in the drying rack I look down to see Hemingway sitting there with his leash in his mouth. I sigh, “Let me get dressed, ok?” I say and head back to my little bedroom in my tiny mess of an apartment. I throw on some tight jeans and a hoodie. I pull a beanie over my hair before I head back out to Hemi. I take the leash from him and clip it to his collar, shoving my feet in my shoes and grabbing my keys and stuff to head out the door. 

 

I trip over the welcome mat on my way down the front steps. I straighten myself out and quietly walk with Hemi just ahead of me. We walk to the dog park he loves, and once inside the little fence I unclip this leash. He happily runs off to join the few other dogs nearby. I wander over to the bench and sit down, sitting forward with my elbows on my knees. I watch Hemi and my mind wanders on it’s own. Maybe I can give Hemingway to Frank. Frank loves dogs, he’d take care of him. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about Hemi and I could just stop pretending to fight this losing battle. One way or the other my mind will eventually win. 

 

I sit there for a while when I notice someone with an easel a little ways away. I watch out of the corner of my eye and see him peak around the easel a couple of times. It doesn’t take much to figure out he might be painting me. I wait till he disappears again before I walk up and stand beside his easel. He actually was painting me I realize. He goes to look again and then notices me standing there. He gives a little yelp and jumps, causing himself to fall off his little stool. I shake my head as I watch the smaller, strawberry blonde man pick himself up and curse under his breathe. He fixes his glasses and picks up his fedora, dusting it off before replacing it on his head. 

 

“Whatcha doin’ over here?” I ask him, looking at his painting. 

 

“Painting, obviously.” he looks up at my with bright blue eyes. 

 

“I’m really not worthy of being in a painting, you know.” I furrow my brows. 

 

“I was painting the bench and scenery, and then you showed up and sat down, showing no sign of moving, so you became part of the picture.” He shrugs and sits back on his stool. “And you are worth painting, you gave it an entirely different mood. I wasn’t happy with how it was turning out before. You’re attractive and your aura adds to the scene so if you’d be so kind as to go sit back where you were so I can finish this, I’d appreciate it.” I frown but do as he asks. 

 

I watch him out the corner of my eye. He paints for a while. At some point he sets down his brush finally and waves for me to come back over. I look at the painting and my jaw drops. He’s good. The background is beautiful, bright and sunny. He managed to make it seem like he’d meant to paint me in the picture the whole time. I stand out very dark against the background of the park. 

 

“Why are you so dark and gloomy, by the way?” he asks curiously, it’s an innocent question so I don’t get upset about it. 

 

“That’s just how my head is I guess.” I shrug. He frowns slightly. 

 

“I see.” he scratches at his hair under his hat. “I’m Patrick, by the way.” he says. 

 

“Pete.” I say and try to smile, he seems to see through the forced smile though. He sits and thinks for a minute. 

 

Hemingway chooses then to barrel into my legs. I stumble a little and curse under my breathe. I clip his leash to his collar again. “You ready to go home finally then?” he barks at me. 

 

“Hey,” Patrick says. “Here, the number on the card is my cell. Text me sometime, maybe we can go out for coffee or pizza?” he holds out a little business card to me. I take it and nod. “It was nice to meet you, Pete, I’m glad you plopped yourself in the middle of my painting.” 

 

“Yeah, me too.” I nod and look at Hemi. “Alright you, let’s go.” I let him lead me out of the park. I turn back and wave at Patrick. He smiles and waves back. 

  
I find myself thinking about the cute little painter the rest of the day and the sunshine smile he had, instead of the clouds in my head. I chuckle as I pick up my notebook to write, sinking into the couch with Hemi crawling into my lap. I scratch the top of his head and start scribbling down the lyrics that form in my head. I’ll text Patrick later. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always you can reach me or get updates by following my Twitter @thePetetoherPat or my Tumblr thepetetoherpatrick.tumblr.com


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